The Hue of Memories
by Crimson White
Summary: CH 4. Peter's last memory is a good one.
1. Chapter 1

So I haven't written much in a long while – hope I haven't gotten too rusty : )

Of course the characters don't belong to me...

This fic was inspired by the summer colour challenge from narniafanfiction (.) com.

Now I struggle with titles at the best of times, but to actually have to put a colour in the titles as a challenge requirement, well...just look what I came up with, lol. : - )

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"Peter lookout!" is his warning before a snowball clocks him in the chest.

"Oi!" he cries, laughing, already gathering snow in his right fist, "who did that?"

"It was Edmund! It was Edmund!" Lucy's head appears from over the top of her hastily built fort - which is really just a mound of snow which she is lying behind.

"Hey! Dibberdobber!"

A fat snowball goes flying at Lucy's blue cap and she shrieks and disappears behind her mound.

Edmund is crouched with Susan behind their much more sophisticated fort, which has three walls at about waist height and a beanie lifted by a stick for a flag. The two are huddled together and shaking with laughter at Lucy's cries of dismay as her single wall begins to crumble.

"Peter! Help me!" Lucy struggles with her wall, still laughing, but pleading with her eyes. "They're ganging up on me!"

He can never resist the pleading eyes.

He runs to join Lucy, who cheers him on as he dodges a renewed attack from the enemy. The missiles fly right past his ear and arm, whistling and crunching on impact with the ground.

"Right," he says to Lucy as he skids to a stop at her side, landing flat on his stomach and knocking into her with a huff, "it doesn't look good."

Lucy nods very seriously, her eyes sparkling. "I know."

"I think there's nothing for it, we're just going to have to charge."

Lucy ducks another snowball, and grapples with her own. "It has the element of surprise," she agrees.

"Right and if we stockpile first, I'll go out firing and that will distract them long enough for you to take down the walls."

For the first time she frowns at his plan. "How do I do that?"

They are studiously ignoring their enemy who are giving a very silly war dance, which involves lots of snow tossing in their general direction and a few rude hand signals from Edmund.

He gives her a sly grin. "Jump on them of course."

"Of course." Lucy grins up at him, cheeks flushed in that perfect rosy way of energy and vitality and quite suddenly, without any warning, Peter finds himself back there.

_He's sobbing, great, undignified loud moans of defeat. His hands are covered with it, with his sister's blood. No matter how hard he presses, he can't stop the sluggish flow from the arrow wound on her side. Edmund brushes past him, armour clanking frantically as he collapses to his knees on Lucy's other side and immediately begins to search her pockets, her belt, hands running over his sister in a panicked way which forgoes propriety. Around them, the battle is won, but there is no rejoicing, instead he can hear the dogs howling, the centaurs' voices lifted in anguish. They're already mourning the loss of their queen. Lucy's fingers are cold in his own and he can't feel a pulse. Edmund's hands are shaking as he lifts up the small red vial. Peter can't bear to have it confirmed that it's already too late, that Lucy won't wakeup, that she won't heal. _

"_It's too late, it's too late, Ed," he sobs, raising bloody hands to push his brother away, to let his sister rest in peace._

"_Get off!" Edmund's reply is savage, his movements jerky and unrestrained as he unscrews the bottle. "It's not too late, you shut up! You shut up, Peter!"_

_He can't squabble over his sister's body, he just can't, so he lets Edmund's elbow go and the young boy leans down and lets a single drop land on Lucy's tongue._

_It does nothing, as Peter knew it wouldn't. But it still stings, because he had this hope. Edmund is still staring rigidly at Lucy's face._

"_Ed –"_

"_Give it a minute!"_

"_Ed, please,"Peter hears his own voice crack piteously,"she's dead!" _

_He wonders how Susan will react. Wonders what they should dress Lucy in for her funeral. He wishes the last thing he had heard from his sister's mouth was her laugh, not a terrified scream of pain. He wishes he had been faster in order to save her, to get there in time. What sort of flowers will they have on her grave? Lucy has – had – too many favourites to pick just one._

_Edmund turns to him and Peter decides his brother is mad with grief when Edmund grins maniacally, tears streaming down his cheek and says:_

"_She's not dead."_

"_Ed –"_

"_Peter!" The reply is so adamant, so fierce that he stops and just stares at his little brother. "Peter - stop - just look!"_

_And Peter makes himself look, looks down at his sister's lifeless body, covered in blood and dirt and watches the biggest miracle in the world as Lucy's mouth opens and she hitches in the smallest of breaths._

"_What-"He feels loose, all over, like he's not there anymore. Maybe he's traded places with Lucy and he's the dead one._

_She takes a bigger breath, and then a hacking cough erupts and her eyes fly open. Edmund has collapsed with boneless relief and is sobbing with no regard for pride into his sister's shoulder, a thousand thankyous rising from his lips to Aslan, to time, to luck, to the skies. But Peter can't take his eyes away, can't stop looking at the red, rosy flush that is working its way up his sister's neck and into her cheeks. It's so bright, in contrast to the paleness of death, that he can't resist reaching out and touching. _

"_Peter," she rasps and looks at him with complete trust, like he almost didn't just try and stop Edmund from giving her the cordial because he thought it was too late, like he didn't just let her fight in a battle which left her for dead. _

_Peter finds he can't reply, instead he leans forward and touches his cheek to hers, eager to feel the burn of her flesh, the guarantee that she is alive._

"_Silly Peter," she whispers into his ear, "I'm fine."_

_And when he doesn't reply, just grips her tighter - "oh, Peter."_

"_Peter."_

"Peter!"

He snaps back to now, and she's still there, right where he left her, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, but eyeing him with concern.

"Are you with me?"

And he's sure she's not just asking about whether he's willing to charge into the snow battle with her.

"I'm with you," he replies and reaches out to touch her rosy cheek. "Are you with me?"

Lucy smiles brightly. "Wherever you lead I will follow, my King.

Susan and Edmund never knew what hit them.

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So it's a summer challenge – which I've set in winter....um...my excuse is that it is winter here...even though it doesn't snow and it's currently 30 degrees Celsius...hmm – there will probably be more chapters with more memories, at least one per sibling, but we'll see how I get along plotting those out amongst assignments...... um...review for luv? Lol.

Crimson


	2. Chapter 2

So another memory.....

Characters are not mine.

Hope you enjoy.

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They are all seated before the fire, Lucy with a novel, Edmund with his book and paper, Peter with a rugby ball and Susan with a small pocket mirror and a tube of lipstick.

It's been happening more and more lately, this sudden appearance of the gaudy golden tube which has steadily eaten away at the peace of their easy, familiar bond. Peter can feel the tension, can see it in the way that Lucy taps her fingers gently against her book, in the way Edmund will glance Susan's way and scowl (just slightly), sees it in the way Susan steadily ignores everything around her and carefully practices lining her pink lips a dark red.

"Will you stop that?" Edmund finally explodes. Everyone looks up, Peter's stomach clenches as all the tension is suddenly pushed to the surface. Lucy starts worrying her lip anxiously as Edmund glowers at his sister's lipstick tube.

"It's hideous!" he says, to which Lucy gasps in surprise at her brother's daring.

Susan says nothing, just stares down her little brother, tension thick between them, before calmly going back to putting on her lipstick. She perhaps smacks her lips together a little more forcefully than normal in her eagerness to appear to be not offended.

"What?" Edmund moves his defiant glare to Lucy, when it is clear Susan will not give him the fight he wants. _"You_ think it's hideous too!" He gestures wildly to the air with his pen. "Why's she got to go and put it on when it's only us here?"

"Just because_ I_ don't wear it, _Edmund_, doesn't mean I think it's hideous!" Lucy replies defensively. She attempts a reconciliatory smile in her sister's direction, but it wobbles just slightly. "I think Susan looks beautiful."

Edmund hunkers down, snorting with anger and pulling his book high over his eye line, shutting out his sisters.

There's a stony silence.

"I think Edmund's jealous." Susan finally says airily.

This is exactly the right thing to say to extend the argument further, which she knows perfectly well.

"Of what?" Edmund immediately drops his book with a huff and glares.

Susan smirks. "It's _alright_, I know you just want to be_ beautiful_ –"

Lucy giggles, and then looks properly ashamed when Peter shoots her a warning glance, but it's already enough to encourage Susan and she reaches out, grasps Edmund by the chin and tries to smear a streak of the red makeup on his lips. Edmund struggles, shouting and the lip paint ends up smeared across his cheek.

There's a quick tumble, during which the lipstick goes flying and Susan is perhaps pulling on Edmund's hair just a little too forcefully and Edmund maybe just kicked his sister in the shin. And it all escalates rather quickly and before Peter is even on his feet to stop them, Susan is pulling away with a shout and holding the sleeve of her green dressing gown to one long finger.

She pulls it away and blood gurgles from under her lifted fingernail, melting into the green fabric.

"You _beast_!"

"Me?"

"Look at it! You've hurt me! Oh you wait till I tell Mother!"

"Go on then, perfect Susan with her perfect clothes, go and run to mother and –"

"Peter! Stop him, he can't speak to me like that –"

"Both of you just –" says Lucy.

But Peter is stuck on the stained green of Susan's sleeve, it's a dark muddy brown, spreading slowly and it's familiar in its shade and texture. He takes a breath...

And he's away.

"_The choice is yours, little King."_

_The pirates face is horribly grotesque in its malicious joy. At the man's side, his brother is held captive by a burly sidekick with matted hair. Edmund looks tiny, broken. There's a wound on his temple, blood trickles down slowly to pool in his ear and he's listing to one side, held up mainly by his captor's arms as he fights unconsciousness. All Peter wants to do is rage, rage until he can get to his little brother and protect him, make him better._

_But Josef, this man who has taken Peter's world in his hands and made it a sick game, grins at him from over Susan's trembling shoulder, his knife pressed deeply into the pale skin of her neck and asks him again:_

"_The little brother or the little sister? Such a hard choice you must make, High King." Mockingly. Laughingly. _

"_What do you want?" Peter asks him hoarsely in reply. He's at a loss to why this pirate has given no demands, no requirements to fill for the safety of both his royal siblings. His body aches with the effort to withhold his anger and to withhold his sword from piercing and slicing his revenge. It's senseless, this sick game and Peter just wants it to be over. _

_So he throws down his sword. _

_The already legendary Rhindon clatters on the wooden boards of the ship. _

"_You want my crown?" he holds out his hands, ignoring how they shake and raises his palms in surrender. "Take it."_

_When there is no reply, he kneels; ignoring the gasps and cries of outrage from his soldiers around him, and raises his chin to meet the blackest stare._

_He raises his arms wide. "You want a life? Take mine; take my life, not theirs." _

_It's only been three years since he became King, already he has a reputation as being strong willed and determined, he has never, in his short reign, begged. But the words slip out before he even stops to care._

"_Please, _please_ sir, take me."_

_Josef is the picture of calm as Peter slowly comes apart before him. "I don't want your sword, boy, I don't want your crown, I don't even want you."_

"_Then what_ do_ you want?" Peter cries, losing his patience._

_Josef smiles. "I want you to choose." And the game is back on._

_The knife digs in deeper to Susan's neck; she bites her lip on a sob as it cuts her flesh. _

"_To what purpose must you kill one and let the other go free?" Peter calls desperately, eyes on the blade at Susan's neck._

"_You prefer I kill both?" Josef asks him with a beaming, sickening smile, "So be it!"_

_There's a small commotion as Peter struggles to his feet in panic and the soldiers around him surge forwards. But all the pirate standing next to Josef has to do is pull a limp Edmund to his feet and press his sword across the King's chest and everyone goes back to being frozen._

_They're at a standstill._

_Blood roars in his ears, his brain is working frantically. There's no way he can save them all, not Edmund who is starting to come around, struggling weakly against his captor, not Susan, who is holding back her sobs, not Lucy who is hidden behind a wall of their royal guards, not his soldiers who will die in the fight that he initiates._

"_Peter." Susan says simply._

_His head is automatically shaking no, he knows what she wants and he refuses it before she can say it._

"_Peter, look at me," she says, "please." He almost doesn't, can't stand to see the acceptance that he know will be in her eyes. But he's always had problems ignoring his sisters' pleas._

_She's shaking; he can see the fine tremble of her all over. The dagger is pressing deep into her neck, but still she manages to hold her head high for him._

"_It's alright. Choose."_

_He stares at her, still trying to figure out a way for them to trade places, to escape, to deny his uselessness. "I can't," he refuses. "I _can't_ choose."_

"_Yes,"she says in reply, her voice catches and she swallows deeply, but meets his eyes bravely, "you can." Her left hand twitches in her skirts, shaking with nerves. _

"_No!" Edmund slurs, startling them all with his sudden lucidness, and manages to cry: "Shut up, Su! Don't you dare listen to her Peter! Don't you dare!" Before he's hit around the head solidly once more and he slumps silent. _

"_Ed!" Susan cries out at his treatment, struggling for the first time against her captor. "Stop it! Stop hurting him." But Josef is laughing and laughing and Peter thinks long after this moment he will hear that laughter ringing in his ears. _

_He feels as if he is being pulled in two, he can't explain the pain that is making him gasp and moan, his head braced against the wooden boards of the ship. He grits his teeth, blocks his ears against Lucy's sobs, against the soldiers muttering, against the laughter. _

"_Peter – Look at me."_

_And amongst the confusion of his mind, her voice is so calm, so certain that he lifts his head obediently. She ignores his tears and makes sure he is watching when she nods her head slightly but very certain. Her eyes are endlessly blue, shining with tears. _

"_Please. For Edmund."_

_Peter's eyes slip to his unconscious little brother and in that second he recognises in Susan that roar which bubbles up in him sometimes and makes him fierce and protective and which makes him do anything for his younger siblings. He can tell she's fierce for Edmund now, because he's her little brother and she would do anything for him, just as Peter himself would. _

_Do anything. Including this._

_And Peter finds himself closing his eyes and echoing. "For Edmund."_

_He's deaf to the cries of anguish around him, he won't hear Lucy's shrill scream of defiance. He _can_ hear Susan's sigh of relief, of determination. He opens his eyes and can only see her in this moment. Her hair is loose, falling long and unrestrained over the dark green of her dress. She's beautiful, his sister, the most beautiful woman in the world, more so now as she has ever been before._

"_Is that your decision then, My King?" Josef asks, his face eager, shining in anticipation. _

"_Yes," Peter says to him, but his eyes never leave Susan's. _

_A tear streaks down her cheek leaving a clear trail in the grime smeared on her face. Peter sees her grit her teeth and raise her chin in defiance of her own fear. _

_Peter swallows dryly, makes himself say the words. "Yes, I choose Edmund."_

_Susan's lips are trembling; Peter recognises through his own haze that she's praying, lips moving in a last litany._

"_So be it."_

_Edmund is released from his cage within his captor's arms, but can do nothing more than sag heavily to the floor boards, moaning._

"_Please," Edmund croaks, hands scrambling for purchase on the slick boards, eyes fighting to stay focused. "Please, have mercy."_

_Josef raises his arm, dagger pointed in deadly target. _

"_Scared my darling?" he whispers into her ear._

_Peter wants to close his eyes, doesn't want to see his sister's blood spill across the floorboards and wash away in the ocean. But he's unable to look away, refuses to leave her alone in these last seconds._

"_Susan!" her name rushes from his lips. Begging, but to whom he doesn't know. To Josef, to Susan, to Aslan. It won't change the outcome, Edmund's free but Susan is too far away for him to get there in time. "Susan, please -"_

_She opens hers eyes and stares directly at him, tears falling thick and fast even as she quirks her lips in a tiny half smile._

_The knife comes down and in that split second, Susan goes from being frozen to being in sudden fluid movement. She slams her heel down on Josef's shin and smashes her head backwards into his face. The pirate stumbles just for a moment, howling with surprise more than pain, but a second is all Susan needs. Her hand whips out and the small dagger concealed behind her palm is crossing the pirate's neck and it is Josef, not Susan who falls to the ground with sightless eyes. _

_For another second the world stands still in shock, Susan is the only living thing. With unerring skill, she turns to her right and throws the tiny knife, which Peter can see now she had concealed in a small hidden pocket in the belt of her gown. It sinks into the burly sidekick's neck and he collapses, sick gurgling noises escaping his throat._

_Suddenly bodies are everywhere, exploding into action and the screams of battle are louder than ever before. Peter is on his feet before he even registers he is moving. When he reaches her, breaks past the protective barrier that has suddenly appeared in the form of soldiers, Susan is huddled protectively over Edmund's limp form, great sobs racking her body. Then he's got her in his arms and she sinks against him, breath hot on his neck and wet in his shirt but she's there. _

_And Edmund is alright, blinking blearily up at them, but squeezing one of Susan's hands too hard for him not to be okay. _

_Peter pushes her away softly, wanting to see her and to have her look back._

"_What were you thinking?" he admonishes. But she doesn't reply because she knows he understands. They wont talk about the fact that she's killed a man for a long time, just as they will never speak of the lengths they are willing to go for their family._

_She leans her head on his shoulder and reaches down to brush Edmund's hair away from his temple with a soft smile. Peter thinks to check on the battle around them, but he gets sidetracked, she hasn't escaped unscathed. There's a shallow slice across her neck. Blood streaks down in garishly coloured patches until it melts into the green of her dress. It's dark, murky. He brushes his fingers over the stain._

"_I'm going to have to throw this gown out." Susan half giggles hysterically, she's trembling, in shock, he realises. _

"_What?"_

"_I'll never get -_

- that stain out." She's got her hands up, dangling her sleeve before Edmund, who has his arms crossed defiantly, eyes glittering.

They're still bickering, after _everything_, they're _still_ bickering and he can't stand it.

"Stop it, _now_."

And his siblings go silent, unused to that tone here, where it seems to have little place. Susan shoves her finger in her mouth, sucking a bit peevishly, but Edmund backs down, stares at his brother as Peter struggles to remember _where_ and _when _he is.

It's Lucy who comes forward and gently touches his cheek. "Where'd you go?" she asks softly. It's not until she reaches out to take his hand that Peter realises that he's trembling.

"I –" his voice comes out hoarse and he clears his throat roughly. "The Avenger." He hears Edmund take a deep breath.

"The blood on your gown, Su, it – it reminded me."

They're all quiet as the gravity of his memory hits them all. Susan looks lost though, to Peter, she doesn't seem to be quite there with them in the moment, she's still inspecting her finger, caught in _that _pain, in the here and now.

"Do you – Su, do you remember?"

She blinks and snaps to attention. "Of course I remember, Peter."

"No need to snap," reminds Lucy calmly.

"I just don't –" Susan tries to say but struggles for words, she looks to Edmund who meets her eyes steadily and she frowns and breaks away from his gaze. "It's not a very nice memory." She shrugs and stands up and that far away look is still in her eyes, her lipstick clenched in her fingers.

"I'm going to bed." She half turns to Edmund. "I'm sorry I teased you." It's mostly sincere and she turns to leave, but hesitates, eyes flickering with _something_ and then tentatively reaches out and touches his hair, strokes her fingers across his temple, for just a second.

"Su –" tries Edmund, speaking up and looking apologetic.

"Goodnight, I'm tired." And she's gone, slipping up the stairs before anyone can stop her.

Peter remains staring at the staircase a long time after, Lucy's hand tucked in his, Edmund's quiet, even breaths, holding him there.

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Okay, I've obviously got some serious angst issues going on at the moment....I blame the assignment load from uni. I actually was going to do a happy memory, but, it didn't really turn out that way, obviously. Hopefully next time? Maybe?

Undying devotion for reviews? : )


	3. Chapter 3

Characters aren't mine,

Small warning for a sensitive subject ahead. (small abuse of Alcohol)

Hope you enjoy,

Crimson

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Peter's unsure what it is that has woken him. He sits up in bed, alert, ears pricked for the sound which disturbed his rest.

There's no sound, but something makes him swing his feet out of bed and put on his slippers. Something urges him out of the room he shares with Edmund and down the hall.

It's dark in the house; everyone has long gone to bed. Susan's jacket hangs at the front door, next to a pair of black heels. Peter stops to stare for second, a strange pain in his heart. He'd heard her return from her date, of course, but she hadn't stopped in to say goodnight, or to tell them she was home.

The kitchen is empty, moonlight streaming through the window, illuminating the fridge and the colourful sketches of fauns and castles that Lucy has given mother. Mother had exclaimed over Lucy's 'vivid imagination' and Peter had seen Lucy's smile diminish slightly, realising that their mother could never share their happiness, could never understand why her daughter was fixated on mythical legends and beasts.

He wanders into the living room, scans the bookcase, the fireplace and couch. He almost turns to leave but stops at the tiniest movement and squints at his father's arm chair.

"Dad?"

Moving closer, Peter can see that his father is hunched over, dressed hastily in dressing gown and pyjamas. One slipper adorns his right foot, the left remains bare. His father's chin rests on his chest, his head lolls, unsupported.

"Dad!" Peter hurries forward and grasps his father by his shoulders, lifting his head by his chin. "Are you alright?"

Blearily his father opens his eyes, squints in the dark. There are tear tracks down his cheeks; his nose is red and running. Belatedly, Peter notices the bottle of whiskey tucked under his father's arm.

"Peta ? .."

He's drunk. Absolutely out of his mind intoxicated. It throws Peter for a moment, he's never seen his father like this – ever –

His father struggles to hold his head up, tries to form words.

"Peta, I hav to say...I have to tellyouuu tha I'm...sorry."

"What?" Peter struggles to keep his father upright, he's heavy and Peter doesn't have the muscles that he used to. "Dad what are you going on about?"

His father lets his head loll back against the couch.

"I'm sorry I ha- to go."

To war. He's sorry he had to go to war.

"Dad, it was your duty, you _had_ to go."

Dad is silent, eyes weeping. From tears or whether it's just the excess of alcohol leaking out, Peter doesn't know. But gently, one rough hand comes up and slides clumsily across Peter's cheek. Peter feels his own chest tighten, because his father hasn't touched him affectionately in years. The war took him away, then Peter had to grow up, and then it was too late for childish hugs.

"I'm Sorry," Dad slurs once more. _For leaving you, for missing out, for coming back changed._

Then his father shakes his head roughly from side to side and groans, breaking the calm silence. He's suddenly lucid and real and there when he grabs Peter's face and pulls him down to his level to choke out: "I can't get rid of the _screams..."_

Peter knows all too well the screams that torment his father.

"I can hear the guns! _Tat ta tat tat ta! Tat ta tat tat ta!_" Dad presses at his ears. "They won't stop!" He groans again, restless, agitated, eyes full with memories that only he has access to.

"Shhh," Peter says past the lump in his throat and grasps his father's hands together in his own to keep him from pulling at his ears, he smooths his sweaty forehead. "It's alright, dad. It's alright."

His father grits his teeth and surges up against Peter's hold. "Let me go! Let me go!"

And as suddenly as the burst of energy has come, it's gone, and his father is limp in his hold, eyes fluttering, mouth slack, but blessedly calm.

Slowly, Peter releases his father's hands. He steps back, unsure of what to do next, but decides that moving his father would probably not be feasible. He grabs the bottle of whiskey and pulls it away from where it is half hidden in the cushions.

He takes it back to the kitchen and the moonlight catches on the glass, shines through the liquid and makes it gold.

And Peter is away.

"_Have you seen Edmund?"_

_Susan is radiant in royal purple, her hair free, diamonds sparkling at her neck and wrist. She looks much older than her 13 years. _

_Peter shakes his head, careful not to dislodge his crown. He's done that once already tonight, but the kind hearted bear he had been talking with had sworn himself to secrecy with a jolly wink._

"_Not since the feast. Why?"_

_Susan sighs and steps forward, her hands outstretched to pull Peter back onto the dance floor. They're all new at this, but Susan's picked it up the fastest and she gracefully leads Peter across the stone floor. Peter thinks he manages to look competent and kingly._

"_I'm worried about him," she says and while her voice is worried, her face is the picture of calm enjoyment. Yes, court games and politics have come most easily to his sister._

"_Worried?"_

_Susan hesitates briefly before lifting her eyes to scan her brother's face._

"_He doesn't want me to tell you – he's not sleeping, I've caught him wandering the halls three nights in a row."_

_Peter clenches his jaw with anger. She's still hurting him. "Nightmares," he says._

_Susan doesn't need to nod or reply, the answer is clear in her gaze._

"_Why doesn't he want me to know?"_

_For the first time Susan's face falters and her eyebrows snap together in a small frown._

"_I don't know, Peter, perhaps because you've been avoiding him like the plague ever since Beruna."_

"_I hav –"He tries to deny. He tries to explain. "It's all my fault and I just – I don't want him to - "_

"_Don't even!" Susan cuts him off. "You've been avoiding him, don't deny it! Now, I don't care what's going on in your head, Peter Pevensie, I don't care if you think it's all your fault, your brother needs you, so you had better snap out of it!"_

_Susan clears her throat and has the decency to look a little abashed at her outburst. Carefully he watches, tries to follow her example, as she rearranges her face into calm serenity._

"_He needs you," she repeats, "not me, I've tried." She swallows briefly and Peter can see how affected she is. "But it's not me he needs reassurance from. It's not me he needs forgiveness from."_

"_Susan, you know there's nothing to forgive."_

_The music ends and they part, Susan sweeping into a deep, elegant curtsy. They rise once more, to applause._

"_Yes, but you haven't told him that, have you?" _

_Peter watches her move on to a faun and smile at the compliment obviously given. He lets his feet carry him away, through the halls, down the stairs, partly aware of the tiger guard trailing him several paces behind, until he is standing at his brother's bedroom door._

_He raises his fist and knocks. Hard. Once, pauses, waits for a reply, and then again when there is none._

"_Ed?" he calls and knocks again, "come on, Ed! I – please open up?"_

"_Whatcha doin?"_

_Peter spins on his heel and stares in surprise at his brother._

"_Ed! I was –" he gestures at the door, "I was – looking for you," he finishes lamely, eyeing the way his brother sways slightly, his slack jawed expression and his bleary eyes_

_Edmund snorts with laughter, but it's not even funny. _

"_Ed?" Peter takes a step forward and asks, "What've you got there?" because he's just noticed the slim bottle partially hidden behind Edmund's back. _

"_Nothin'," is the quick reply, but Peter's already caught sight of the golden liquid, shining, bright in the torch lights. _

'_Ed?" he asks, taking a step forward. His heart beats quickly, he's not sure he wants to know the answer. He's not sure of anything at this second. "Are you – are you drunk?"_

_Edmund stares at him a moment, eyes wide, but then laughs again, and Peter nearly laughs too, because the idea of his eleven year old brother being drunk is absolutely absurd. But then Edmund is stumbling to the wall, his face crumpling, the hand that is not clenching the bottle clutching at his face in shame._

_Peter follows him, alarmed at the way his brother slams himself against the wall and slides down it raggedly. And then – in front of Peter's own eyes, Edmund's tipping the bottle back and swallowing and swallowing. Peter makes a grab for the bottle, finds it surprisingly hard to take away from his brother's white knuckled fingers._

"_Ed – stop it! Give it here! You're being ridiculous!"_

_And suddenly Edmund's shoving back, the bottle rolling away, spilling its contents. "I'm not being ridiculous! You're being ridiculous!"_

_Peter braces himself for a fight but the anger's gone as suddenly as it arrived and Edmund slumps wearily against the wall._

"_Well, that clears that up." Peter looks at his little brother; his red flushed cheeks are stained with tears. "What's going on, Edmund?"_

_Edmund shivers. A full body shiver that rocks his shoulders. The closer Peter looks, the more he notices that Edmund is tense, taught and shivering all over, muscles clenched. He leans his head against his folded arms, closes his eyes._

"_Don't look at me like that," he mumbles in reply._

"_Like what? Like I'm worried about you?"_

"_You're not worried, you don't care!"_

"_Edmund!"_

"_You think I'm stupid, that I can't be trusted."_

_Peter feels his moth drop in shock. "I don't!"_

"_Do" Edmund retorts. He shivers again. "I'm cold."_

_Peter automatically takes off his cloak and sweeps it over his brother's huddled form. _

"_Better?"_

"_I'm so cold. So, so, so cold," Edmund repeats, as if not even noticing the cloak. His hands pat the ground, searching, growing more frantic. "Where's my -?"_

"_You're not getting it back," Peter tells him firmly._

"_It's mine!" Edmund shouts, head snapping up from his knees, eyes wide and red._

"_Not anymore. You don't want it, Ed. It's nasty stuff."_

"_No! No, no, no, no!" Edmund moans. "It's nice,_** warm**_ in my belly. Please. Please I'm cold!"_

_Peter can't understand. "Why are you cold? It's a perfectly nice night, Edmund, you've got your cloak and mine!"_

_Edmund goes silent, sulky silent, head buried once more in his knees._

"_Ed," sighs Peter, worrying, he runs a hand over his face, tells himself one more time this is his entire fault._

"_She kept me in an ice cell."_

_Peter stills and so does Edmund. They don't talk about this. It's too raw, too recent. Edmund's betrayal, Peter's guilt. Peter still hates himself too much to be able to talk about this._

_Edmund doesn't move his head from his knees and his voice is muffled, but he keeps talking. _

"_I was so cold – I thought I'd never use my fingers again. And in the walls, there were – there were Narnians. Dwarves and fauns frozen right into the walls, staring at me, hating me, mocking me."_

"_Ed –" Peter can barely make his own voice work. He's guessed the horrors, forced himself to guess, blamed himself countless times, but he'd never thought –_

"_She'd give me water – cold water – and I was so thirsty that I had to drink it. But it was so cold. It burned on the way down. Burned and burned and I was so cold."_

_Edmund lifts his head, more tears streak down his cheeks._

"_I just want to be warm. I just want to forget." He stares at Peter, a tiny boy lost in a nightmare. "I just want you to love me again."_

"_Ed," Peter says to him, but he can't speak past the lump in his throat. Can't voice how pained he is that Edmund's gone through this. Can't berate himself enough for leaving his little brother to find solace in a bottle of drink because of the guilt he didn't want to face. So instead he reaches out, pulls Edmund to him, tucks him into his chest, wraps his arms around the shaking body and holds on. Holds so tight that it surely hurts. But Edmund doesn't protest. He clings back. Clings so hard that Peter can hear his ribs creaking, but doesn't care one wit._

_Peter finally lifts Edmund's face and holds it between his hands, staring down at the reddened eyes._

"_There is nothing – you hear me? – Nothing that will ever make me stop loving you. There is nothing that I will not forgive. What happened wasn't your fault."_

"_Yes it was," Edmund says solemnly and even though he's slurring and bleary, he's earnest, "you can say no all you want, but I chose to give you in. I'm sorry, so sorry that I did. But I did."_

_Peter takes a deep breath, presses his lips to his brother's forehead. "Then I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago."_

_Edmund releases a big shuddery breath, right into Peter's face and it makes him scrunch his nose up at the stench._

"_You weren't mad?"_

"_Edmund, I was so mad I couldn't see straight!" he says. "But you know what was worse?"_

"_Wha?"_

"_Knowing that you were in danger and it was all my fault. So, I think the question really is, do you forgive me?"_

"_Peter," Edmund says, hands clenched tight in Peter's tunic, "I didn't even know there was anything to forgive."_

_They sit there for a long time, wrapped in Peter's cloak. Edmund drifts to sleep against his shoulder and Peter's glad because in the silence it's so much easier to sort through the thoughts in his mind. But his brother will have one headache in the morning. He stares at the slim bottle which is a few feet away, a tiny bit of golden liquid in the bottom. _

"_How'd you get the drink anyway, Ed?"_

"_It's surprisingly easy to get whatever you want when you're king," is the sleepy reply._

_Peter holds back his snort of surprised laughter._

"_Well no more, alright? You come to me, not the liquor cabinet."_

"_mmkay."_

"_Promise."_

"_Promise. Peter?"_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Peter?"_

"_What is it, Ed?"_

"_Peter. Peter. Peter." Edmund repeats his name, a small, contended smile on his face._

"Peter?"

Peter jumps and almost drops the bottle he had been contemplating dangerously. Edmund steadies him.

"What're you doing standing in the middle of the kitchen at three in the morning?"

Peter looks at the bottle; Edmund follows his gaze and freezes. He raises his eyes to Peter and waits.

"No...not me." Peter hurriedly goes to the sink and pours the remaining liquid temptation down the drain. "It's dad."

"Dad?"

"He's drunk. Can't get rid of the screams."

"Oh." Edmund peeks around kitchen door and Peter guesses he must see Dad's slumped form. "I know how that feels."

"Yeah," replies Peter, his back to his brother, "me too." He hesitates, but: "Ed? Do you still...remember?"

Edmund's by his side now and together they stare out the window. "Is that what you were doing? Remembering?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "Sometimes I think you had the right idea back then. Dad agrees atleast. These memories, I think I'm going crazy, I can't control when they'll creep up on me."

Edmund shakes his head. "You have memories for a reason. It's best to deal with them, not get rip roaring drunk trying to forget, only to fail and get a headache the next morning."

Peter laughs quietly. "Is that right?"

Edmund nudges him. "Speaking from experience."

Peter slings an arm around his brother. "You're my favourite brother, you know that?"

"I'm your only brother, you twit!"

"Oh, come on!"

"Fine, I guess you're my favourite brother too."

Edmund takes the empty bottle from his hands and throws it away.

......................................................................................................................................................


	4. Chapter 4

I hope I have not rusted too completely that I am unable to give a satisfactory ending to this story.

Crimson

…

"Peter?"

Lucy's voice jolts him from his staring towards the gate at the entrance to their train platform. She's standing between the train doors, her suitcase in hand, waiting for him to board.

"She didn't come." He says, bewildered. He had seriously thought that he had seen something change in her eyes that last time he had spoken with her.

"She's not ready," replies Lucy, "not yet, at least."

Peter allows Lucy to take a hold of his hand and pull him inside the train with one last look towards the gate to make absolutely sure. He takes a seat across from Edmund and manages a weak smile for his cousin and friend.

Edmund's eyes are also far away, tightness at the corners of his mouth.

"Aslan would say that we cannot know someone else's story," says Lucy into the tense silence.

"But it's Susan!" retorts Edmund, clenching his hat within his hands in agitation. "It's _Susan_, Lucy!"

Lucy smiles enigmatically. "Exactly. And while I many not know the paths of her life and where it will go. I can make what I would call...a very educated guess."

Peter is still holding Lucy's hand and sharing a grin with Edmund when he blinks his eyes in sudden darkness and is aware that his chest hurts.

"_Clearly I can't even let you go on a simple campaign against giants anymore, brother!"_

_Peter can't stop the smile, even as it aches across his bruised face, when Edmund suddenly makes his presence known._

"_Why, just three weeks without my expert advice and you're shipped back home to mend!"_

_Edmund throws himself onto the armchair next to Peter's bed, obscuring Peter's view of the moonlit grounds but outlining the sharp angles of his face in the light. Peter thinks his brother must be going through another growth spurt._

"_You know the solution don't you?" Edmund asks, slinging his crown to the side and taking great care to crush his carefully pressed dinner robes._

"_No?" he continues dramatically, when Peter remains silent (in truth it hurts to speak). "You're just going to have to convince Su that I'm not needed here to attend these ghastly parties and that you need me by your side to ensure your survival!"_

_Edmund sits upright, his brown eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he looks at his brother, head to toe._

"_Actually, I don't think you'll need to talk at all. Do me a favor and try to look especially wounded these next couple of days, will you?"_

_Peter tries his best attempt to sit up and groans instead as his ribs ache. Edmund's face splits into a mischievous grin. _

_"Splendid. That'll about do it!" His face sobers somewhat as he gets to his feet and together they struggle to bring Peter upright. _"_Still hurt?" he asks, in his quietly worried way. Before Peter can open his mouth Edmund brushes aside his own question. "'Course it does." He straightens somewhat but sits on the bed at Peter's side. He stares down at his brother and Peter can feel his eyes taking in every injury, assessing how long he will have to maintain this façade of cheerful carelessness for the throngs of well wishers, some of whom are downstairs at this moment. Edmund's asking himself how long he can maintain a show of control and power to the spies that have gathered in the court to assess Narnia's strength with her High King so devastatingly wounded. Peter squeezes his brother's hand with as much strength as he can. He knows Edmund can do it. It is Edmund who doubts himself. Edmund squeezes back but snorts a huff of laughter through his nose as he shakes his head._

"_Next time duck when a giant aims its club at your head, idiot."_

"_It takes one to know one!" _

_Peter turns his head to welcome his defender. __Lucy rustles as she walks into the room because she is encased entirely in ruffles._

"_Don't even!" she warns Peter as she struggles to pull herself onto the large bed beside him and catches him trying not to laugh. Lucy's fifteen, gangly, and desperately trying to prove to her elder sister that she is grown up. The gown says it all._

"_I just can't do it, Peter!" she sighs and Edmund huffs another amused snort as she throws off her heels and hitches up her dress in order to snuggle carefully into his side. Peter encases her under his arm. Very carefully, he stretches his neck until he can press a warm kiss to her forehead. To him, she is always beautiful. Lucy sighs again, content this time._

"_I've tripped four times, torn a hole in the train of my gown, spilt wine on my belt and managed to stab Lord Patters with the heel of my shoe." _

_Edmund actually lets out a loud laugh and Peter watches fondly as Lucy allows her own lips to tug into a rueful smile._

"_You'd better watch it, Ed. Su's noticed you're gone," she says, eyebrows raised._

_Edmund's laugh cuts away and he curses, but with humor, "She's impossible to escape, I tell you, Peter!"_

_Lucy lifts her head, suddenly curious. "How __**did**__ you escape? I heard that Su had a guard on you the whole night to make sure you stayed at the party."_

_Edmund schools his face into a very solemn countenance. "With great difficulty, let me ensure you, My Royal Sister." He nods his head decisively. "It involved a cheese wheel, a pineapple and the naming rights of my firstborn son. He will be called Brkahendomly, in case you were wondering."_

_Peter and Lucy stare at Edmund. He quirks his lips into a small smile before the three of them lose it. Peter holds his sides best he can with a broken elbow as he struggles not to laugh. Lucy howls into the pillow and Edmund lets his head fall to the bed, his shoulders shaking._

_They make such a ruckus that they almost miss the footsteps._

_Quick as a flash Edmund and Lucy are up, trying to hold back their giggles as they search for hiding places. They aren't very quiet at all with quite a few pushes and shushes and shhhes going on as they clamber over each other. Peter thoroughly enjoys watching his siblings act like silly teenagers rather than Kings and Queens and so it is with a smile on his face that he greets his sister._

_Queen Susan enters the High King's Chambers, takes a glance around, spies Lucy's high heels, still lying on the floor and Edmund's crown, discarded on the sofa and lets out a weary sigh. Peter reaches out his good hand and she shakes her head, closing the distance between them. She clasps his fingers in hers and he squeezes her fingers lightly. He sees the light tug of her smile as she sighs again and reaches up to pull off her own golden circlet, discarding it on his bedside table._

"_Really you two. Are we playing hide and seek like children now?" Susan asks the general vicinity._

_There is an explosion of giggles from inside the closet and it wriggles violently before Edmund comes bursting out of the doors. _

"_No shoving!" he cries as he staggers out._

"_You tried to sit on me!" Lucy retorts indignantly as she struggles out of the closet, her dress getting in her way._

"_It's not my fault you look like you're one of Peter's ceremonial jackets!"_

_Lucy stops struggling, her face aghast. "I don't look like a ruffly jacket!" she turns concerned eyes to Susan. "Do I?"_

_Susan smiles and reaches out her arms to her sister. _"_Not at all." She holds Lucy by her shoulders, corrects her posture slightly and smiles down at her sister, lifting Lucy's chin with cool fingers. "You look beautiful. In fact, the visiting Prince Corin could not take his eyes off of you, sister!"_

_Edmund laughs again, "Corin is so young he is impressed by any female who bestows him a smile!"_

_Lucy sticks her tongue out at Edmund under Susan's arm as she throws herself back on the bed beside Peter in a fit of embarrassment._

"_Careful." Susan chides, her eyes sharp on Peter's face as he struggles not to groan at the jostling. "You forget your brother is hurt."_

_Edmund takes the moment Susan is distracted and Lucy is contrite to cross his eyes and pull a grotesque face at his younger sister in retaliation._

"_I saw that," Susan says mildly. Edmund jumps in surprise, as her back has been to him the entire time. Lucy giggles in triumph, but cringes as Susan raises her eyebrows in warning. "And you. No poking your tongue out." Susan softens the chiding with her fingers, gently pushing Lucy's hair back from her forehead._

_There's a gentle silence as Edmund makes his way back to his armchair and throws himself into it. Peter thinks Edmund will one day do himself damage the way he throws himself around. He feels Susan's eyes and turns to meet her acute gaze. He sees that she understands that he will heal but also that she is struggling, trying her best to keep them together, their little family, while he is otherwise detained. He squeezes her hand gratefully and she breaks their connection and turns enquiring eyes to Edmund, a wry smile tugging at her mouth_

"_Well. I was waylaid on my way here by a very excited dwarf who told me my nephew was to be named brackenwingwam or some such –"_

_She doesn't get to finish because she's set them off again, all three of them. Peter raises his eyes to the ceiling in the hopes that he can stop the chuckles threatening to turn his mild aches into stabbing pains._

_Lucy is curled back into his side, one of her hands clasped in Susan's. Susan's other hand is encased within his own grip. Edmund has shucked his shoes and has tucked his feet under Peter's knee, a spot he knows is unhurt._

_Peter aches something fierce and he cannot yet talk, but he will not take the cordial. This is all a healing remedy or a painkiller he needs. His strength. His family. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes in contentment and..._

...even though the pain in his chest is enough to make him cry out, there is no air in his lungs to do so. There's something foreign in his side, slicing him open, letting the blood ooze sluggishly. There's a warm, sticky sensation at his temple. There are so many sounds all at once that he can hear nothing and yet his heart beats so heavily that he can feel the throb of it all over. He vaguely thinks he should be panicked, trying to find Lucy and Edmund. Worried that Susan is not here and hasn't been for a while. But there's a roaring in his ears and it sounds all so hauntingly familiar. Peter closes his eyes.

And opens them.


End file.
